"imaginings" poems
#*Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast
has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
heaving with song
The mystical feathered troubadour's
swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;*
rousing *a lonely heart's esprit
to fly away unfettered
in constellations of song
How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
when you wish upon a star
Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!
Rolling like trailing thunder;
tucked and tumbling ―
somersaulting,
celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy
A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
dreaming of that shapeless
w h o o o o s h ―
gathering beneath
~ uplifting wings ~
Suddenly ― gliding freely,
winging gracefully
upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song
Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle
... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
if my heart had wings*
imagined by: Jesse Stillwater
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
Hear the gentle summer breeze
Whisking through gulmohar leaves
In the music of wind chimes
Tinkling songs of summer time
Feel her quiet on the skin
Filling hearts imaginings
See her as the blossoms dance
In the cusp of dawn's romance
In saplings that take a bow
In wind blown hair tousled now
Petals touched by her stir
Silken soft in gossamer
Light and dark shadows play
On shrubs of green bunched bouquet
While butterflies and bees sup
Drink nectar from sun's molten cup
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 10:08 AM UTC
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
It's deep night, damp and sticky with the
residue of southern heat which refuses to
totally dissipate this far into the night.
The night is thick with the voices of insects
and sleepers sweating atop their sheets,
committing sins in their vivid imaginings.
Dreaming, I'm standing by the wide river
wishing I could fly with the breeze through
the trees, the soft, warm, cradling breeze
that comes up from the Mississippi River.
It stirs the boughs of cypress and oak trees
and arouses a wind chime's music somewhere
down the dimly-lit street, while scattering
a newspaper like huge leaves; a wind that smells
of magnolia and dogwood blossoms and
river mud. A full moon casts long shadows
which melt into even darker, yet benign
shadows. The night has compiled its secrets,
mysteries, transgressions; surely that is the
charm of night - it frees the mind to settle not
on what seemed important during the day,
but on the longings kept locked away, hidden
from the disclosing light, struggling to break
free and take wing with this night wind.
--
Sep 14, 2011
Sep 14, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
“Never trust a ginger”
she sings giggling looking at the red head next to me.
Her song is a pretty good representation of our friendship.
Throw in a ***** bump and some dorky dance moves
oh yea
that’s the definition of our friendship.
Laughing and dying at things no one else gets
actions no one else see’s
and mouthed words no one else understands.
That’s just a little inside view of our “love”.
“Never kiss a ginger”
It’s a little late for that don’t ya think
blackberry tea and coffee making her laugh till she dies.
Hysterics that break her down till she’s on the floor rolling
rolling down a hill and being so dizzy she can’t get up.
Oh but she’s a monster that chases you around
trying to tackle you to the ground.
Falling off the playground rail and hitting her head
just like in our story
so she lays there laughing hysterically.
All I can do is shake my head
“Never kiss a ginger…twice”
yea that’s a little better.
he won’t be telling my slightly stunned, amazed face its cute again.
The face we later joked about
mouth dropped to the floor
eyes wide.
Like did that seriously just happen.
Our dumb and quirky reactions to everything
exaggerated, excited yeses
and happy little dances.
"Never date a ginger”
I’m not nor have I ever…
where do you get these thoughts that run through your head?
Ok I can’t say much
my mind wanders to the strangest places
and leads us to the greatest conversations.
Like cops on bikes with prisoners in baskets
leading to Mortal Instruments characters all riding one bike.
I’ve no idea where our minds get these strange ideas and imaginings.
“Never love a ginger”
I never said I love him
don’t let your mind wander
dangerous things happen when our minds wander
anywhere from dinosaurs ruling the world to death
and the things in between are sometimes worse to think about
“Never like a ginger”
OI!
with this again
I don’t I promise there’s nothing there
now please shut up.
Yes, yes I love you now please don’t attack my legs again
I really don’t feel like falling on the floor
it’s not very appealing.
Uh-oh
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
I feel your love,
Yet your marksmanship is poor,
For towards me your love aims not.
Your intentions aimed elsewhere.
A past lover.
And I am not he.
Malicious Misery pushed you too far.
Too far this time.
Your life is precious to me,
Yet a treasure you seek not.
It dwindles within these machines,
Like a strand of seaweed.
Being crashed upon by the waves,
Of this poison you endowed yourself with.
Much a tragedy this is.
Yet not that of Shakespeare.
No, this much too real,
To take a form of fictitious imaginings.
This, much more complicated,
Than a Shakespearean masterpiece.
For if so,
Your love would be aimed at I.
But it is not,
And in resent, I mourn this tragedy.
Yet, I must let love,
Travel upon its everso hellbound path.
My eyes lie upon thee,
And my heart within the feeble hand of yours.
Yet your mind lies elsewhere,
And your desires lie with your mind.
Upon he.
The one currently at your arms reach.
The one at your desires demand.
The one you truly love.
I must not resent this,
For love hath struck thee as it struck I.
And Cupid's arrow hath stuck he as well.
I can see it in his sorrowful stare.
He loves you in a way that I cannot.
A consentful love.
For I am just a scapegoat.
Temporary.
Well now you've quenched your desire.
You've acquired what you sought.
Love of he.
(And I, for whatever its worth.)
His love is a precious gold,
And mine a mere coal.
Black, unwanted.
Only able to provide temporary warmth.
Pardon me for obstructing.
Love hath stolen my precious vision,
And wandered, I,
Into the meadow in which you hunt.
As a poor marksman,
Thou cast thine arrow of love upon me,
And realized I am but a scapegoat,
When the white stag is what you seek.
Once before,
you lined him in your sights.
But evasive is this mystical creature.
And once, he escap'd.
If your life so solidifies,
I shall replinish my vision,
Banish my love,
And obstruct thee no more.
Instead,
I must prosper in silence and patience.
Shun my hearts desires,
And let thee hunt.
I apologize for my inconvenience.
I shall groom each of your horses,
So that you may ride into,
The meadow of love together.
Hence, beware of hunters,
And wandering creatures.
Teach thine unsteady hand,
And this time...
Don't miss.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 4:19 AM UTC
A place in which I know nothing about, an unknown world
A world unlike any I have ever known to exist, an opposite of this reality
A place only to be traveled to by deep sleep or sweet reverie
A world of pure innocence and raw creativity, a world of adventure and fantasy
A place where you can fly into the cosmos
And soar through the universe until you become nothing but sparkling stardust
A realm where blood isn't pumping through your veins, but rather what flows through is stardust
A world within a world
A realm where physicalities are meaningless and existence lies within the cosmos
A world that causes you to question your own rendition of the word "reality"
A realm that both defines and illustrates the meaning of the word "fantasy"
And is inherently bigger than any one dream or reverie
Something like that of an endless reverie
A myriad of universes and ever-glowing stardust
Something like that of an endless fantasy
A myriad of imaginings and an ever-growing illusory world
Something like that of a castle in the sky, nothing like that of harsh reality
A myriad of thoughts that turn into pictures and skies that turn into the cosmos
Have you ever journeyed into the cosmos?
Through shut eyes and intense dreaming or through glassy eyes and pleasant reverie?
Have you ever left this reality?
Joined the entities of another realm, disintegrated into the galaxy and became stardust?
Have you ever traveled to another world?
Became another entity, fully embraced a potent fantasy?
I wish to travel to this place and immerse myself in the fantasy
I want to become one with the cosmos
And escape the physical world
I wish to travel to this place and immerse myself in the reverie
I want to become one with the universe through the merging of our inner reaching stardust
And escape this tugging reality
Nothing is more terrifying or confining than what I know as reality
Nothing is more appealing or liberating than what I know as fantasy
I am a soul and I am stardust
I am the universe and I am the cosmos
I am a dream and a reverie
All within a world outside of a world
A place existing outside the lines of reality, a place within easy reach of the cosmos
A world born unto fantasy, a world fueled through reverie
A realm overpowered by stardust, a realm that is not of this world
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
My lips can no longer hold back.
The muted tones cannot bring out the infinity that hides
discretely
points
to an exit sign.
Certainty waves goodbye. My only function now is to collapse it.
To put the past behind.
The barred doors allow the bottleneck to tighten for a few hours,
but memory has a way of sounding the alarm in the morning
when the early birds rise,
armed with ancient lessons
that remind me they're the ones who are eating well.
I want to come up from the dirt and drink from the well.
My low-life self can no longer heed the worm's advice:
"Sleep all day and you won't get eaten."
Out.
Out with your tepid voice and halfway disposition.
Out with your elevated mind, your profound commitment to the mediocre task
of enlightening the little people.
The empire you fabricate may stay stitched for a while.
But the clothes of emperors always burst at the seams.
A workaholic, addicted to the common
you're winning your converts with tired dreams, vicarious imaginings of those finer roads, well tread by shoes that are not your own.
You don't believe in the masses. Fine. But get the **** off
your throne.
Reciting badly drawn poems at four in the morning
(it could have been worse e.g. I could have wrote "mourning")
looking to insight myself,
not into a passionate frenzy
like Bacchae drunk on the moonlight.
No -- I want piercing red. That's what I want to be.
Want to show the heavens how I use the precious wine.
Sip it.
Out the undulations go.
Sweating out the great myth that time forgets when it flows.
My pagan-witch ego has put me on the hunt for blood tonight,
and the full moon is giving rise to ****** undulations,
washing up teeny-book explanations
of loves once lost.
But I'm far from my being,
and from the infinite ocean.
And the only sound I can hear right now is my one hand clapping at the curtain call,
retiring my broom,
bowing goodbye.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
through all the heartache
through life and death
through all the chaos that lives in my head
we can all be certain of one thing
i was much more clever when i was on ******
way too often i imagine a life where i've never met him
(i never end up any place good)
but in all these imaginings
i always feel like me
i always feel like i'm enough
so now can you un-save me?
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
The cram of stars in the navy-night
blue-light of summer solstice.
The majestic zodiac sprawled
across the ever-stretching sky.
Ancient definitions of myth
star-stories of pre-determined fate
mapped in the moment and place
of our birthing; such fantasies
such imaginings of stellar systems
and mankind’s significance.
Heavens and humours; rules and rights
from Gods to kings and subjects
All settled in an ordered Universe
until, curiosity, ingenuity and invention
observation and record, rigor and Science
with its license to question freedom.
© M.L.Emmett
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 8:55 AM UTC
Within a world of azure blue,
the mantas glide with angel wings,
and fly on winds of ocean waves,
inside their realm of mystery.
Like ancient beings from the deep,
they flash and shimmer in our light,
with other-worldly mammoth forms;
cephalic fins and flattened frames.
These gentle giants of the night,
draw fishes from the briny deep,
their vivid forms flash to and fro,
feed on the banquet of the sea.
They dance balletic in our lights;
exquisite, rings and summersaults,
with bubbles lit to guide their path,
they glide just past our mortal reach.
These stunning marvels of the deep,
are but a finite sampling,
of what our planet offers up,
far past our wild imaginings.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
I
Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,
Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;
Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt
The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.
II
In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.
Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.
She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.
A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned--
A cymbal crashed,
Amid roaring horns.
III
Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.
They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;
And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.
Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.
And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.
IV
Beauty is momentary in the mind--
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.
The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.
Susanna's music touched the ***** strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.
3.5k
You're somewhere between a sneeze and an ******
A breath of fresh air, and clear nostrils after you've been sick.
The sunrise, and it's set.
You are bright mornings, and the full moon blanketed by Venus, Mars, and all their siblings.
Somewhere linking here and there, I've found you.
Between love and hate, I keep you.
Did I leave, Or had you left?
I wonder how you remain and yet, never stayed.
Among my expectations and disappointments, I'm empty and full.
Full of imaginings, empty of chances.
Full of love, and grief,
Empty of myself.
Taken by time,
And her elegant thief.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
*Do you hear the music?
Does it give you ease?
Hold my hands and lean far back
Look up into the trees.
The answers there
That no one sees,
Imaginings to anyone who believes.
That magic
Can’t be deceived,
Open arms to be relieved.
Move with me
And be believed,
Cherished, loved
And well received.
Just dancing with the trees.
Sunlight flickering through a canopy of incandescent leaves
A gentle cool wind blowing to a background of confident blue.
All around me are the dancing trees.
Rejoicing it seems in their bright prancing hues.
Oak, hemlock, cottonwood, spruce and pine
All swaying together in perfect time.
I walk the path in awe of it all
Listening to the spreading news.
The earth it seems
Has reached the dawning of a new day
Reproducing itself along the way.
I wonder if that’s really true
A year – can it be just a day?
If it is then I’m a part and so are you.
As we pass through this earthly delight
Another day of romance is on the way.
All the trees are out dancing tonight
Having put on their Sunday best.
Tonight they too can find this life's zest.
(Now move your body with the rhythm of the wind blown trees)
Let’s dance with them just for a little while.
Listen to the music of the air.
You move right – I’ll follow with a smile.
Then move left – the movement in your hair.
Living life with but one care
Taking this time to be aware.
Open your heart – no fear to share
Should or shouldn’t we dare?
This wonderful evening we are there.
Move again, I’ll take your hand
To and fro we say – isn’t it grand?
Waltzing – can you feel the breeze
In with a troop of trees?
I bow straight to my knees,
You follow and begin to see
Life and love and harmony
Peace of mind be seized.
Now holding on tight – still on your knees
Still moving to and fro I ask you please
Do you hear the music – does it give you ease?
Hold my hands and lean far back
And look up into the trees.
The answers there that no one sees
Imaginings to anyone who believes
That magic can’t be deceived
Open arms to be relieved
Move with me and be believed,
Cherished, loved and well received
Just dancing with the trees.*
Jun 3, 2017
Jun 3, 2017 at 4:14 AM UTC
*Reading poems today on Hello Poetry
This is what came to me as the Love
Mete with so much needs of ALL!!!*
Desiderata
***Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.***
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
Dressed in black, dark eyes amused
She strolls into a room
With the specialised tread
Of a femme fatale,
Tossing her streaming hair in arrogant joy.
Her perfect body
Contains the calm and unexpected force
Of the sea, shifting in a moment between
Reason and fury.
She graces the men with sure-footed Arabic,
Stark, sibilant, passionate words
Laughing like a poem.
A Moroccan beauty,
Guedra dancing in the sun,
From the desert coloured mosque of Casablanca
Punctured by the worship Of 70,000 songs,
To the unremitting souks of Marrakesh,
Her complexity
Emboldened by the courage
Of poets.
She has a silence in her intellect
Such as few have,
Unusual evidence of a soul
In a world of franchises,
Her past imaginings deeper and wider
Than that of her peers,
Dancing to fast Gharnati rhythms,
Beneath imagined Andulusian sunsets
And glowing skies.
An effervescent scintillating gasp of fervent
Desert air, beating across her limbs
Moving gently towards silence.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC
I have one wrist shackled to my watch strap
dragging me to obey the sweeping hands of another
like a traffic cop ordering hours of peaks to start and stop
relentlessly spilling time from a once brimming cup
splish splash out into oceans of flashy imaginings
I need the delicate precision of a jeweller's screwdriver kit
to make sense of the shared purpose of the springs
pushing the wheels to wear green amber red carats
tiny diamonds that aren't meant to sparkle
but sit immovable within sealed circles waiting
in partnership
inexorably waiting
patiently forever for the sun to release its shackle
the chain dripping a ting a ting
from the earth into a new star
winding up the decayed orbiting
to trap the same diamonds on a second
hand swept somewhere afar
and with a roll ex-galaxies expired
their guest president bracelet
their gasped jewelled weight
in loving eyes of liquid gold
not ordering us two
to be a slave to anything
now time shone
free could not be sold
apart ever again
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
love between poets: “who will be between the sheets next week
when I’m gone,” she lets sigh-escape,
as she watches the backyard paradise parading landscape
of animals before the bay, perfect day sure to come,
her new pets obeying the early morn sunrising awakening call
to rise, everyone playing~parading, before her royal summons,
no coincidence, finger-of-god, two by two
this while I’m kissing her neck,
my arm around her *******
and the he-intent on slip sliding down
to the small of her back,
obeying his innate,
worship worshiping and giving up,
all he’s got intense intently contentedly
unfazed, unphased,
non-nonplussed,
he’s been interrogated before,
heart is pure he answers:
next weekend when you are back in situ,
thousands of miles away, airplane housed for hours,
writing poems of love from the lost and found,
recalling this exact moment,
how I worshipped your presence,
and these words:
You will be with me in every breath,
our sheets will radioactively emit
ions and molecules of our scent combined,
and present as present your perfume can be,
elicited, elixir, you and me combinant
she turns from the bay-view,
the animals who now mutually
worship her adoration,
watching, focused on us as observers,
she lifts me up and smiles,
replying*
“oh my lover you’re the cad of cads,
king of the baddest poet-lads,
the gist of what is wrong with the best of men,
her, pressing me hard to her chestnut hair chest,
she, falling down into my eyes
take me back to bed, liar,
let me add to my aroma,
to ensue, to ensure you will miss
the best love
you had partly, insufficiently, and unhinged
completely
I’m your lassie, you my lad,
my king of cads, my lover poet,
thief of my poems and my secret speech spells,
escalating senses of one’s imaginings”*
and,
along came the rest
of what was freely given,
for love between poets
man and
a woman,
is a someone, somewhere,
sometime summertime
thing
*I will still smell you in my
heart, and send to you ballistic missives,
words to explode your tear ducts
when you rest in sheets that met me,
when you’ll know me by my odors,
cry out loud so that you’ll scare our animals,
no matter how many tides wash away our residue,
you will never unknow and be forever unprepared
for my return,*
even though we will be each, a thousand unwritten poems away...
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 11:07 AM UTC
was an aperitif to an aphorism,
an apothecary of aphrodisiacs,
an apiary of my ever-buzzing thoughts.
She slipped streamline as maraschinos
into a Manhattan, that strike of sugar
staining the most bitter days a color no chemical dispels.
She was an enigmatic row of beakers
shelved in an ancient pharmacy
at the base of the Janiculum.
Her shape was incense wisps, her
touch a song sung in 1940s noir,
her locking gaze acrophobia itself.
Alliteration ran thick through her blood,
she painted like Debussy composed.
No single organism in the universe could’ve imposed
anything on her – well, maybe.
Maybe she’s just a girl, the way that I’m a boy –
no air of denigration here.
She was intricate, but altogether simple. Empathetic-yet-
tangible, her character was incredible.
It was not the beauty of her face, the body
that held her mind and laughter,
not the dazed sting in my hand as it cupped
in hers – it was her autotelic way and her hope.
And now her imaginings hang,
framed in my house; little landscapes of the heart she left;
retreats that prove I’ve loved and been loved.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:59 AM UTC
Sometimes I think I love best
from afar,
observing impossible conquests
from behind crowds
of maniacs on sidewalks.
Sometimes I love through written notes
to people in far away places.
When up close, reality stops
the imaginings.
I dream of far better love
than I live.
-Ron Gavalik
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
I lay on the ground below
the curved hips of the hills at sunset
The aperture of my eyes, my *** my eyes
and the narrow escape
of mind from body
I am ten again
and they’re calling me falsey
“Big **** No bra!”
Shoving them into the lockers
of Holy Name’s pool
My eyes? Brown. My hair? Brown
My body? Invisible, lean and “Leave me alone!
or I’ll punch your lights out!”
Meanwhile, Mom is mortified
but not cause I’m banned from the stupid pool
All I want— is to run bare to the waist
Ride my bike, maniacal
Be a bird
Swipe ice from the milk truck
Marvel over maggots in garbage
Catch toads, caterpillars, pollywogs in jars
Later, sell lemonade— get rich!
…and pretend…pretend…
till the litany of our names, hollered from the porch
till the street lights come on….
*****
“This is for something you haven’t got yet”
says the matron of the fitting room
Bones in a bathing suit?
What I haven’t got?
or they haven’t got?
will never get—
in their worlds of curtained cubicles
Cause of death:
Strangulation by measuring tape!
*****
In my plaid two-piece
sunburned shoulders, wind-wild hair
By sweat and the afternoon’s imaginings
I built a fortress of sand and stones
to endure forever….
But she— shook the blanket
at the tide’s full reach
Peppered the air with an epoch
Clouds darkening
the wind-torqued sea
Finding my flip-flops, we—
trudged off…
into the changing… changing
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 9:45 PM UTC
You intrigue,
With your unsubtle unsettled intent to decieve,
Breadcrumb clues
Your gender;
(don't care)
Your age
(don't care, but oft
Insightful)
<>
Only two things do I require;
Any name you wish to provide,
(So intriguing, always a poem in & of itself),
And from where you hale/hail,
So my imaginings can fly to you
With full embrace
<>
Sunday
July 20th
2025
Still & Quiet
in the sunroom
S.I.
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 7:22 AM UTC